


When It Rains, It Pours...

by darlingsherlock (eppiemusings)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Bake Shop AU, First Meeting, Fluff, Love at First Sight, M/M, Romance, baker!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 18:04:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8337496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eppiemusings/pseuds/darlingsherlock
Summary: When John Watson, with dampened clothes and spirits, enters a Bake shop seeking a bit of warmth little did he understand how when it rains it pours...





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. Ages after my first fic, here I'm with my second!
> 
> The premise of this fic is based on or inspired from [ this post ](http://johnlockiseternal.tumblr.com/post/151383815447/i-am-not-really-sure-if-i-am-the-first-one-coming) originally posted by johnlockiseternal on tumblr. Credit for the idea belongs to them, and I'm posting this fic with their permission.
> 
> I'm non-native English speaker, and this fic has not been Brit-picked. All grammatical and factual mistakes are my own. If anyone wants the mistakes corrected, please point them out for me, I'll fix them.
> 
> I don't own the characters, they belong to the creators, the show, and BBC.
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading this fic.

The pleasant chime of door bell was closely followed by an unpleasant clatter of metal. John, drenched in rain, irritated with his soaking clothes and half way in the process of closing the door behind him, looked up to see the source of the second noise.  


A visibly nervous, and flustered, young waitress at a table hastily up righted a toppled vase on the top, and talked in a rush.  


“Oh, I’m sorry, didn’t see it was there...um...didn’t mean to alarm you.” She gave a weak smile, clearly wanting to get over her embarrassment.  


Before John could assure her that she didn’t alarm him, she spoke in a forced cheery voice that did nothing to reduce his already irritated mood.  


“Bad weather, isn’t it?”  


Assurance forgotten, John raised eyebrows at her with a slight nod in the direction of the torrential rain outside. Whatever she made of his reaction, he didn’t care, it made her forced cheeriness to retreat and she went back to nervous talk.  


“You should come in, take a seat, um, I’ll get him over here...” her voice trailed off as she disappeared behind a set of doors to...wherever. John’s spirits were dampened with his clothes, and he felt unreasonably disgruntled.  


John stood at the door, his clothes dripping wet onto the mat he stood on, and ran fingers through his plastered hair combing it away from his forehead. _Shouldn’t I order first? Do they take orders at the table?_ He wondered vaguely as he turned on the spot, slowly taking in the interior. He’d passed by this bake shop countless times, but had never bothered to step in, and he couldn’t fathom why because this place was warm both in atmosphere and sight.  


Scrapping his shoes on the mat, not wanting to ruin the pristine looking floor with his wet shoes, he slowly stepped towards a table placed immediately to the door’s side. Taking off his coat he placed it on the back of the chair, and proceeded to take his seat. Outside, the rain poured relentlessly, managing to splatter drops against the high glass window he sat next to, when the wind blew in certain direction. Inside, the warm air dulled the biting cold of his skin.  


He brought both his palms to his face to wipe off the remaining water, just then the doors through which the waitress had disappeared opened, and John froze with his hands covering the lower half of his face. In retrospect, it was for the best, else he’d been in danger of unabashedly gaping at the most beautiful man he’d the good fortune of laying eyes on. The man smiled an endearing crooked smile as he made his way to the table John was occupying.  


The man was dressed in a wisteria colour shirt, the sleeves rolled up neatly till elbows, and slate gray trousers. His whole pale feature was set off by a shock of dark curls, which fell artfully on his forehead. If there hadn’t been an apron tied around his waist, John wouldn’t have pegged him to be a waiter, because he looked anything but.  


John continued to stare as the man stopped in front of him and his eyes scanned John’s face restlessly. A slight frown appeared between his brows even as he smiled down at John.  


“Are you cold, sir? Would you like me to turn up the heater?” His deep voice laced with a hint of concern suited him, John decided.  


A second later he realised, to his chagrin, the picture he presented with his classic cold suffering posture. He dropped his hands onto the table looking down, and he huffed out what he hoped was an incredulous laugh that, to his further embarrassment, came out like a cough. He looked up to see the man’s frown deepen, and his smile falter.  


“No, no,” John cleared his throat, and continued “In fact, I’m warm, I’m feeling warm,” realising as he spoke that he was indeed feeling warm. Right from the moment he had seen that man walking towards him, in fact. From the inside, to be precise, from the center of his chest the warmth had spread steadily to tingle in his fingertips. He clasped his sweating palms firmly. Damn.  


“I guess you’ve cranked up the heater already...?” he trailed off weakly. He hoped the heat he was feeling in his cheeks was not actually showing. Please, fate can’t be that unfair, surely? Well, it can be. He hoped the man would attribute the tinged cheeks to the cold weather.  


“No,” the man said with his eyes sliding off to the side as if mentally making sure, “It has not been. Not more than necessary.”  


“Ah.”  


John, feeling hot, this time out of embarrassment without a doubt, slid his eyes off the beautiful face to stare without focusing at an array of fancy wishes cards arranged in a wooden wall rack on the opposite wall. He should’ve simply walked in the rain.  


“Would you like to order something, sir? Or shall I get back to you a bit later?”  


John’s head snapped up.  


“John,” he blurted before he could stop himself, and trudged on, “My name...it’s John. John Watson.” Clearing his throat, continued, “You can call me John, ‘sir’ is bit too much for me.” He smiled up at the silently contemplating face.  


The man smiled back but John could see that the man was thinking, probably pondering how highly unusual it was for a customer to give their name at very first visit, in John’s case very first talk, and it made John fidget in his chair. Was his awkward stretch going to end anytime soon?  


“Alright, John. I’m Sherlock Holmes, and I’ll be waiting on you this evening,” the man, Sherlock, said giving a prim nod at the end. John nodded thoughtlessly, and turned to look at the menu before him but his mind was stuck at one single point.  


“Sherlock...” John said in a low voice, feeling the name on his tongue, without thinking. His eyes scanned the names without seeing, or registering. Sherlock...Sherlock...the name just like his deep voice suits him, John mused. And froze. Was he saying that name in repeat? Damn.  


“Sherlock,” John said firmly, hastening to cover up his gaffe and hoping the man hadn’t heard, trying to sound as if he was meaning to ask anyway, “What do you recommend?”  


Sherlock raised an eyebrow and glanced between John and the rain outside, before saying, “A hot cup of tea would be the common choice by most people on an evening like this, but for myself, I always find a well brewed, filtered coffee perfect, to set the mood right and positive.”  


John found himself keen to agree with anything Sherlock suggested, he might as well have said hot water would be great for all that John cared. He made an affirmative noise, not wanting to come across as too eager, and keeping his eyes on the menu.  


“How do you take your coffee, John? Milk, cream, sugar, no sugar?”  


“Milk, no sugar.” John said giving up pretext to be still reading the menu.  


Sherlock made an ‘hmm’ noise before turning back to look at doors he had come through or was he looking at the display of baked goods? John didn’t have time to decide which before Sherlock turned back.  


“Well, then I’d suggest you try our Mini Almond Bundt Cakes to go with your coffee. You can choose glazed or non-glazed, it has a mix of cinnamon and almond flavour that goes perfectly well with the pure coffee taste,” Sherlock said with a glint in his eyes, as if he knew John wouldn’t be able to decline such a combination. John knew next to nothing.  


“Then I’ll have just that, thank you.” John smiled up at Sherlock, wondering why on earth he was letting himself be robbed by this man’s charm. Sherlock gave a swift nod as he turned on the balls of his feet, and strode away to disappear through the doors he’d come through.  


John watched him absently, knowing perfectly well he was being an absolute dream customer right now when only minutes ago he’d barely stopped himself from snapping at the waitress. He turned to stare out of the window, the rain was now slowing down to a steady rhythm, and he didn’t feel so cross anymore. People, who’d taken shelter under the shop’s canopy, when he’d decided to come in, had cleared out leaving him a clear view of the wet road. He watched the rain drops splatter on the concrete, his mind conjuring an image of the man, who looked too good to be waiting tables and had seemed pleased to have a customer. He turned to look around the shop. Except him, it was empty.  


John frowned. For a bake shop situated in a busy hot spot like Baker Street, it was relatively non happening. And on a rainy day like this, it should’ve been bursting at the seams. Was the quality of food not good? Sherlock’s face came up in his mind’s eye, and John quickly dismissed the idea of bad food. The ambience itself was soothing, and welcome, John couldn’t think of a reason why this place could be ignored. But then, he’d ignored it all this time. Maybe more people would trickle in as the evening progressed, also, he reasoned, he was admittedly early for the evening since he’d hastened to leave the clinic to avoid the rains.  


He focused his attention on the wish cards neatly arranged on the wall rack, he supposed those were meant for gift boxes or special messages to surprise companions. He smiled, this shop was well thought out. Right from the pastel coloured walls, the dark wooden display units with their illuminated interiors, the elegant handwriting font for the display names printed on old parchment like cards, and bright yellow menu card with birds and swirling creepers designs placed on the tables to the simple circular tables with lighter shade wooden tops to complement the display units. The place was a marriage of the old world and the modern.  


John’s thoughts inevitably came back to Sherlock. That man was dressed impeccably by any bake shop standards. What was he doing waiting tables dressed like that? Or was it this shop’s uniform to dress staff in well fitting trousers and shirts. The waitress’s attire had been casual, now that he cared to remember, nothing fancy for waiting tables. Maybe Sherlock was some sort of show stopper for evening crowds? With his warm smile and easy charm...John found that he didn’t like the thought. His earlier ruffled mood was creeping back and he did not want to know why.  


The door bell chimed marking arrival of a couple. John straightened up running his hands on the table edge as the waitress from earlier walked in to greet the couple and directing them to a table across the room. She was once again cheery and talking squeezing her hands together as she did, a nervous gesture John noted. He felt little bad about his earlier crossness.  


Sherlock walked in with a tray, glancing at the new arrival, his face neutral. He placed the tray in front of John, and proceeded to take the little milk jar as he looked up at John.  


“How much milk do you prefer? Let me advise that filtered coffee tastes best with as much little milk as possible. You can taste the true coffee bean flavour that way. But of course, your choice.” Sherlock ended with a small smile. He cares so much about experiencing the tastes, John thought.  


“I’ll take with one teaspoon of milk...then?” John said looking between Sherlock and the milk jar in his hand.  


Sherlock obliged with a broad smile, looking pleased with John accepting his advice.  


“And would you like glaze on the cake?”  


“What do you advise?” John said completely giving up on pretending to think.  


Sherlock scrunched his nose tilting his head and it made him look momentarily like a child shrugging at white chocolate.  


“It adds a bit more sweetness, but you don’t seem to like a lot of it, do you?” Sherlock said shooting a quick glance at John’s coffee.  


“No.”  


“Right.”  


“Right.”  


Sherlock hesitated for a second, looking over the tray’s contents, before nodding and turning to walk away slowly. John felt a stupid urge to call him back but he reached for his coffee chastising himself mentally.  


Sherlock wasn’t being pretentious when he said the filtered coffee actually lets one to taste the beans because John supposed he could taste something like a tropical fruit with this one, or he could be imagining it all in his head!  


John took his time enjoying the coffee and almond cake, again Sherlock’s promise had held, they went together smoothly compensating each other, and John took them in turns. The rain outside had almost stopped, and John did not fancy one more walk in a downpour so turned to look across the room where he thought the billing was done.  


Sherlock stood lazily running a cloth over an already shining display unit top, John spent a moment looking at the man before rising from his seat. Sherlock snapped his gaze to John almost immediately and paused his slow swiping.  


John smiled as he came to stand on the other side of the unit, Sherlock returned it hesitatingly.  


“You don’t need anything else, John?”  


“Ah, no, I better hurry...before it starts again,” John said jabbing a thumb in the direction of the door. He wished he could delay his stay, Sherlock was already running his bill, and John was loath to end their meeting.  


“Do you offer breakfasts here?” John said coming up with what he felt was least absurd and most formal topic to continue talking and hoped the clouds didn’t decide to punish him for it.  


“Yes, we do,” Sherlock said, his voice eager, looking up as he slid the bill towards John and continued, “We’ve croissants, scones, eggs, anything you’d ask of a breakfast. We serve way till 11:00, so you wouldn’t have to worry about your late office timings either.” John stared.  


“How do you know I’ve late morning timings?” John asked quietly, just then the door chime went off signalling more customers, Sherlock glanced hurriedly towards the door.  


“Oh? I don’t...just that we’ve customers asking for breakfast late into morning, and you don’t have to worry about it if you were late...or something” Sherlock looked like he wanted the conversation to end already, shooting glances at the tables, and John felt guilty about questioning him like that. He must’ve come off like someone thinking they were special to be noted. What was he thinking? He was the only one walking the street to work? Idiot.  


“Oh, okay. Right.”  


John quickly paid the amount, not wanting to linger any longer now that he’d made a fool of himself, and made sure to give proper change feeling it would compensate for his behaviour. Sherlock smiled again taking the money off the counter.  


“We hope to see you again, John. Good Evening.”  


John just managed to hum his acknowledgement before turning to leave. He noted absently there were at least three tables occupied now as he pulled the door open to walk out.  


Once outside he took a deep breath before starting to walk in the direction of the Tube station. People were out in droves, now that the rains had halted, hurrying along the pavements to make it home as soon as possible. He let the crowd carry him along as his mind wandered elsewhere.  


He told himself not to visit the shop anytime soon. At least till he felt comfortable enough to face that man without thinking back to this evening. Why did he feel so embarrassed? He was the customer, for God’s sakes! But he felt like he’s crossed the line forcing Sherlock to withdraw his welcoming manners within seconds.  


He came to a halt at the road crossing as the crowd waited for the signal. Chilly breeze blew through the street making people shiver and pull coats tighter around their bodies. John realised with numbing sensation that he didn’t have the same luxury because...he’d left his coat back in the shop! Damn!  


“Shit”  


He’d cursed loud enough for a couple of people to shoot looks at him. He detached from the crowd as the green signal came up, he couldn’t afford to continue in his plaid shirt and knitted cardigan if fate indeed decided to be crueller to him this evening. He walked back, his mood sinking to settle on the pavement he walked on.  


Baker Street was now dotted with lights from the street lights and windows as the evening had properly set in, people streamed on both sides of the road. He walked briskly with his hands deep in pockets, keeping eyes on his destination. _Just grab the damn wet coat and get out,_ he pep-talked himself. It wasn’t like he was trespassing, he was getting his bloody soaking coat, and yet he could feel the nervous energy thrumming just below the skin.  


He stopped at the glass door, peering inside. Except for a lady customer, who was walking towards the door rummaging in her bag, the shop was empty. Just as he made to open the door, the lady pulled the door, he gave a tight smile as he slipped in and she walked out. He turned to the table he’d occupied, the chair was bare now. Oh no.  


He slowly turned about looking for it, hoping it was hung on a hook somewhere by the staff and he wouldn’t have to call anyone. Lady Luck wasn’t interested in his cowardice, apparently. He let out a resigned sigh as he made to the counter, his hands automatically curling and uncurling. Standing at the counter and nearer to the doors, which were left open, he could hear voices slowly approaching. As they drew closer he could make out Sherlock’s voice replying in an irritated tone to another man’s laugh.  


“...I couldn’t possibly follow him down the street, all for a coat...”  


This was followed by a man’s jovial voice.  


“I believe you, I do, you just checked the coat for any number you can call him on and inform...” Pause.  


“Shut up, Geoff.”  


“It’s Greg. And I didn’t say anything.”  


“I know what you’re thinking”  


“No, you don’t,” the voice chuckled before continuing, “Although, I must admit, if I wasn’t so sure that you weren’t capable of it, I would’ve believed that you brought the heavy downpour to force him inside the shop out of no choice.”  


A female voice burst in laughter, John supposed it belonged to the waitress.  


“Oh, shut up, you both” Sherlock snapped but without any heat. “Molly, shouldn’t you be at the front? Has the customer left?”  


“Oh yes, she was leaving, sure you don’t want to take charge again?” This time the man, Greg, laughed.  


“For God’s sake!”  


John heard sure footsteps walking to the doors, he’d no time to back off, and he was sure he didn’t want to actually. He stood firm. Sherlock walked through the door, looking clearly ruffled and a faint flush coated his high cheekbones, it could be from the kitchen’s heat or...not.  


Sherlock looked up, his eyes widened, and stopped in his tracks just behind the huge display unit. He wasn’t wearing the serving apron.  


“John?” Sherlock said looking over John’s shoulder towards the entry door, confusion clear on his face, but it disappeared almost immediately as he realised why the door hadn’t chimed John’s arrival. John could see as Sherlock covered how long John must’ve stood inside the shop. The energy thrumming below John’s skin now wasn’t nervous, not anymore. The waitress, Molly, walked looking cheery but it fled her as she took in the scene.  


Like lights coming up inside a darkened theatre after the show has ended, John’s dulled vision of the entire evening was brightening up. Molly’s startled look when he’d entered, Sherlock’s knowledge of his timings, and his subsequent reluctance to explain how he knew...  


“I left my coat. Did you happen to see it?” John said in a steady tone. Oh, how he’d felt guilty standing here, it seemed ages ago. And all this time...  


“Yes, I did come out to see if you were still in the street, but you were nowhere...” Sherlock said in a rush, he looked like he wanted to say more but reined himself. He hurried to the billing counter bending down to retrieve the coat, neatly folded. John smiled internally.  


Sherlock avoided eye contact as he handed over the coat above the table top. The silence, as John unfolded the coat, would’ve been comical, if it weren’t making Sherlock so visibly embarrassed and sad. It didn’t suit him, John mused.  


“I suppose, you aren’t a waiter then?” John asked, pushing arms inside the coat sleeves. Molly shot a furtive glance at Sherlock, and squeezed her hands together. Sherlock remained still before replying slowly.  


“No. Actually, I own this shop,” Sherlock said nodding, looking solemn, and added, “I bake and over look the workings.”  


John nodded, buttoning up, and looking at the displayed delicacies. He hadn’t been wrong in estimating Sherlock as too good looking to be waiting tables, after all. He smiled lopsidedly, wondering and then feeling thrilled...  


“You don’t offer dinner here, I take it?” John asked, chuckling as he remembered how he’d chosen the topic earlier out of desperation to keep conversing with this gorgeous man. And now, for the first time in the whole evening, he felt in control of the proceedings and fully aware of what he was going to do next.  


“No, we don’t,” Sherlock replied still looking solemn, but John could see his brain working restlessly to explain himself. It made him look vulnerable.  


“Pity,” John said in mock disappointment, before adding, “I’ll simply have to take you somewhere else then.”  


Sherlock’s eyes widened, lips parting slightly but he kept silent. Molly, on the other hand, had no such self-restraint and squeaked “Oh!”  


“Dinner?” John smiled. As an afterthought added, “If you’re amenable, that is.” Sherlock half-smiled, glancing down shyly.  


“Yes, I’d like that.”  


“Good. But not tonight, I’d like to be in dry clothes to enjoy a warm meal.” John raised his eyebrows, nodding.  


Sherlock huffed, looking relieved at the turn of events. They stood smiling at each other, and Molly stood glancing between and around them but not going anywhere.  


“How about tomorrow evening I meet you here around, say, 7:00?” John said his voice calm. He felt calm and sure. He wanted to dine with Sherlock, know him better, and more than anything he wanted to court this beautiful and mysterious man before him.  


“Yes, that is fine,” Sherlock replied carefully as if afraid of breaking the bubble around them.  


“You get to choose the place since you didn’t get to choose the weather,” John winked lightly, but Sherlock was already starting to flush again. John didn’t want to overwhelm him any further. He walked backwards slowly as Sherlock stood smiling silently.  


Just as he turned, he saw the wishes cards out of the corner of his eyes, and made a quick decision. He stopped before them to choose a card, then picking out a card that read “Tomorrow is limitless” he wrote down his number. He walked back and slid the card towards Sherlock.  


“If, in case, I’ve left anything else behind...”  


Sherlock pressed his lips together and looked down at the card while Molly snickered. John gave a casual parting salute and walked out. Just as the door was closing behind him, he heard a sequel immediately followed by “Sshhh!!”  


The clouds were opening again with light drizzle as John walked down the street. He looked up smiling, his hands settled deep in pocket warmly, and felt the drizzle on his face. His spirits were anything but damp.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank You for reading :) Comments are welcome and much appreciated :)
> 
> If you feel like making suggestions for the plot, feel free, I'd love to hear them :)
> 
> You can follow me on tumblr : [ darlingsherlock ](darlingsherlock.tumblr.com)


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